


A little more than desire

by Chesireh



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Asmo has a lot of angsty potential, Asmo is sad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, If theres any error, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, Reader is "you", Sad and a little painful, Tell Me, at least I think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chesireh/pseuds/Chesireh
Summary: You and Asmo have a complicated relationship. Sometimes he wants to rip you apart and others he can’t quiet the desire to touch you gently and said things he will regret.You, of course, are completely unaware of his emotional turmoil. Which to be fair, would be more noticeable if he said something about it, instead of lying and deceiving like the little demon he is.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Male Character(s), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	A little more than desire

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, so I hope I wrote this right, even if it was at the middle of the night.

Asmodeus is pretty in a way that’s almost unbearable not to be in awe of, even for him. (When you snort at him when he says it out loud, he attributes it to childish jealousy. There’s no way someone could actually laugh at him and mean it.)

He has those beautiful honey blonde locks, piercing bright eyes that can see through your deepest desires, loving long lashes and more than mildly inviting cherry tinted lips... Asmo is also extravagant in his personality; he is inadequately cheerful and sweet for a demon, making every single desperate soul in Devildom fall for him. It’s like his mere presence could make the most rare flowers in existence bloom just to get a single breathe of his attention directed at them.

And yet, you seem to be an exception. One that is awful and full of shameless innocence.

He gets this uneasiness from the way you do everything you do. Every time your eyes land on his, Asmo can’t help but get this devastating feeling of expectance radiating from your gentle soul. It drives him crazy. To think you want more than the _simplicity_ of beauty, when Asmo begs and crawls to get every single scrap of _perfection_ that he gets the opportunity to take for himself.

 _You are supposed to want it too_ , Asmo repeats to himself when you laugh at Mammon’s antics, when you play games with Levi, when you frown at Lucifer, when you read while resting your head in Satan’s knees, when you spend any moment with someone that isn’t him. _And even if you’re hypothetically made to be drawn to him….You never let Asmo kiss you or tell him you love him. Not like you do with them._

_Asmo would be lying if he said he didn’t hate them a little for gaining the affection he seems to be unable to obtain._

And every single night he lays awake, with no one on his side, because he can’t stop the thoughts for swarming on his mind and playing tricks on his devious heart. You appear constantly before he falls for his very much needed beauty sleep, with your nice smile and your nasty –sweetly soft- human heart. You, who make him feel like he isn’t enough; for the first time in his very long demon life as Asmodeus the jewel of Devildom. Like a reminder of his time in the Celestial Realm, where everything felt similar to a never ending race to get better. To be good and graceful and full of something he always lacked.

He goes through this awful feeling, all of the times you are near him, almost like he’s ugly and broken in a way that he can’t see. In a way that anyone but you, with those longing –forget-me-not-eyes-, its unable to recognize. That gaze, bursting of concern and tenderness; it’s suffocating. You are killing him softly in a way he is incapable of stopping.

_What’s so wrong with him that you feel so much yet so little of what he desires to receive from you?_

Asmo gets into a pair of skinny black jeans, observing his figure and feigning a little smirk, one jam-packed with slyness and naught.

What exactly is that horrifying gloominess that lurks around him? That sadness you find so unappealing, so mortifying…

He finishes doing his cobalt blue eyeliner, and blinks a few times because Asmo is sure he is about to ruin it with ugly –undeserving- tears. _There’s nothing more unacceptable that ruining fresh makeup with weeping_ , he reprimands himself, fanning his face with his delicate hands to make it dry faster.

You have become unattainable because of this unfound imperfection, which somehow manages to shadow his gorgeousness. It’s so irritating that Asmo finds himself drawing near his dear brother’s, Satan, sin.

Asmo passes a hand through his hair to achieve a wild look for everyone to notice how fun of a ride is him. _And really, what a ride is he,_ Asmo thinks to himself, analyzing the low rise of his jeans where he can see the lines of his nicely worked body peeking around.

You are never lustful, not even when he wraps his arms around you from behind and leans on your shoulder to sweet talk his way through your pants.

He is wearing a pair of shocking blue boots that are certainly yours and it irritates him to no end. Asmo is constantly having you somewhere in his thoughts, no matter what he does to throw you out.

There’s always something different of what he expects in your response. “Good morning to you too, Asmo.” Or “Asmo, I’m a little occupied, if you aren’t helping then please let go.” Both of those responses piss him off, but the one he can’t forgive is the: “You are so warm, Asmo.” While you touch his hair with your human fingers and play with it, in the same way that you fool around with all of his insatiable _want_.

And when he finally finishes preparing for a night full of fun and curious hands all over him, a restrained knock on his door and your soft voice at the other side of it, is more than enough to crumble all of his urgency to leave till the sun rose the next morning, to dance, to touch and to kiss without telling to the point of being sore.

Asmodeus opens the door, without preparing to see your trembling form, to observe the uncomfortable way of your arms holding yourself, in an anxious hug that attempts to stop the quivering of your lips and the tears at the corners of your eyes.

“Oh, sweetie!” he says loudly and full of loving, because that what he does, even when he’s angry at you for as much as breathing in his presence. Asmo prefers sweetness over sourness, he can’t explain why the honey cooed word slip so easily, however it isn’t like he questions it, Asmo despises feeling anything but good. And maybe that what drives him mad about you.

If he said it, you would say that’s what makes him truly wicked. Since realness comes from saying what you truly want to say.

“Asmo.”You whine, holding out your arms and wrapping your fingers in his silky white translucent shirt. He is sure he’s about to get dirty in a way he doesn’t want to, but stays still, because you’re looking quite ugly with tears and snot in your face. And he can’t have that, not when there’s a lot of potential in the admirable features that you always present to him.

“What is it, love?” He asks, taking you by the shoulder to get your cries on his chest and stop having to look at the tears so directly. Your sobbing becomes louder, and he closes the door, to evade Lucifer passing through the hallway and scolding you both for something that Asmo can’t really control. It’s not like he can’t turn you out when you are shaking, and he surely didn’t oblige you to appear in front of him. “Hmm?”He pushes when there’s no answer and you muffle your words on his shirts. “I can’t listen to you if you do that, my little sunshine.” Pet names always come and go from his mouth, but they seem to be unstoppable when they are directed at you.

You move a little, so your cheek is on his chest but your voice isn’t hushed by the fabric of his clothes. “Do you hate me?”

“Huh?” He quiets not because you are wrong, but because there’s something or someone who made you feel like he does. Asmo isn’t sure what he feels when you are around; however, hating is a really awful and strong word. It’s true his chest is about to explode, since there has been something caged in there for far too long, yet Asmo wouldn’t call it hate even if he was forced to name it.

_It is certainly more like love._

“I went to Purgatory Hall today, to have some tea with Solomon,” you mutter, explaining further since he didn’t answer. “And he said you feel strongly for me. In a way I don’t deserve to be thought of.” You state it like it’s horrible and his heart falls to his knees, suddenly too heavy to keep beating on his chest. “Is it true?” Asmo adores Solomon, however a little punishment wouldn’t be too rough on their friendship.

If he lies, you would know. If he says the truth… “Yes, I do.” When you want to step back, the grip on your body grows stronger and he contains your wild movements to escape him. “Let me finish, sweetie.” He says, trying to make you calm down. The second you stop wanting to run away he sighs loudly, since he’s not sure how to say it without being too oppressive. One thing is to touch, to desire and to lust after somebody, and other is expecting someone to love. To bring them to open their hearts to another… He can’t sneak his way into something like love. “I do not hate you.”

“Then…?” Your voice is faint and somehow hopeful. You smell nice, like pancakes and tea with honey, and lavender shampoo. He inhales, taking courage from what you provoke with your warmth.

“You should know by now,” he taunts, running his fingers through your hair, ruffling it slightly, taking advantage of whatever he can get, before you reject his honest feelings. “It’s quite the opposite. I could even say it’s…” You break him off, seconds away to confess.

“Asmo. Don’t joke right now. I’m really concerned, you are my friend, and I care about you. So don’t hate me, please.”

“Just so you know, I don’t hate you,” he finishes muttering, with his eyes becoming a little wet. “I just have been a tiny bit occupied, you see, I’m the soul of all the parties in Devildom. I really, really, like hanging out with you, my precious.”

_He won’t cry._

_He won’t cry._

_He won’t cry,_

“Okay.” You exhale, moving away from him and smiling openly when you fix your eyes on his face, “thank you for being honest for once.”

“I could be lying,” he scoffs, still keeping his hands on your waist.

“You wouldn’t be crying if you were.”

_And maybe he does hate you, because your fingertips burn the wet skin that they touch, while you try to unsuccessfully try to dry his tears and put his preoccupations away._

“I was the one that was to supposed to keep crying, Asmo.”

“Then don’t doubt me!” _If his words are more serious than what they need to be, you still don’t notice._

_Asmo thinks that maybe this is his punishment, for leaving his angel wings behind and betraying the ones who loved him._

_To be truly known from the surface of himself to the deepest of his sins but never truly heard._


End file.
